Next Door

All of them bumps and bones, beautiful boulders, all of them stones. The sleet and slab, the crunch & munch, all of these crackheads near our homes. Scars and scabs, shit and spit, I’ve seen the dance plenty of times before: the swaying, the pulling, the grasping, the scratching—the glare of those red-capped eyes. To me it’s mid-afternoon…to him it’s still the dead of night. I aimed to avoid any type of confrontation with this nontoucher staggering up the centre of the back-alley’s path—his mind, no doubt, choking on the white clouds in the sky. The beamers are all over this city. We’re no strangers to that. Perhaps he’d just been back to back with his bag bride in the underground garage…who knew? The twitching of his tweak he can keep to himself.

White ball white ghost white sugar white tornado, the groaning the moaning the retching the screaming, eyes closed head tilted mouth open, home at long last from his interplanetary mission.

Prior to this I had been irritated to tears by all the crazed aliens in the local grocery store. Never cross Broadway, I keep telling myself, but there are mornings one tends to get lazy. There is a hefty price for that free parking spot.

He dipped suddenly to the concrete, distracted by a pebble, or filter of a cigarette. Henpicking for whatever they might have dropped the night before. I was able to pass unnoticed, relieved no johns had occupied the spot in my absence. I parked and began my struggle with all seven bags to the back door. Mere caution added haste to my steps. There was a diver in my dumpster and I did not want to share. But like a raccoon scrounging in the bushes he grunted his acknowledgment, and with one swooping motion out of the bin he started directly at me.

With bags of food and drink hanging off my wrists, panic crept upwards as the handle to the door would not turn. The lock was stuck and the diver staggered his dance my way. His eyes were fixated on me, his teeth were showing, his hands stretched out front. This was, indeed, the same dope fiend I thought I had left behind. And he was on a mission.

The door gave just in time and I stumbled through with my entire stash. Wanting to be nowhere near the next crack attack, I kicked the door shut to no avail—there is no house fee here. It bounced off his shoulders. The chase was on. He was hefty, strong, a lot bigger than me, purging a lifetime of unforgivable memories, introducing me to his nightmare. I climbed up the three flights, as fast as I could, careful not to drop anything—him right behind me, zombified, tripping on the steps, slamming against the walls.

He followed me to my front door. My heart pounding against my chest, sweat on my chin. I dropped the bags, fumbled with my keys, him just a couple feet away. He then fell straight to the floor and lay there. Motionless. I threw the groceries into my suite and watched for a moment before he finally stirred, lifted himself and began to crawl.

Carpet patrol right at my front door.

He picked himself up with one big heave, leveled himself against the wall. Drool oozed from his mouth. I straightened myself, no longer afraid, prepared to take him on. The binger teetered right past me.

“The devil made me blind.”

Beam me up Scottie.

All of those crumbs on the welcome mat, all of those apple jacks and French fries, the biscuits, the rocks of hell, all the beautiful boulders in the halls. The latest addition to our building had just made his entrance. Meet your new neighbor. Crackhead Bob. Now living directly next door.


Ldm